It
by dorkkheya
Summary: Santana really didn't want to be afraid anymore.
1. Chapter 1

You entered the hallways, watching students scrambling to move past you, like being within a meter's radius of you could wound them. It wasn't unfamiliar - this has been the image that greeted you every day since you first donned your Cheerios uniform. Except, instead of the rush you felt on your first day as a cheerleader, from the exponential hike in power and status your pleated skirt provided, all that was left were waves of emptiness.

No one came forward to give you a hug, no one exchanged pleasantries with you, no one acknowledged your presence with a smile, no one dared to meet your eye. And like you always had, you stood a little straighter, puffing your chest and lifting your chin, convincing yourself that it was all worth it. The vile protein shakes you were made to drink to maintain the cheerio physique? Worth it. The boys you pleased to maintain your status? Worth it. The long training hours that left you all but drained? Worth it. It was all worth it.

If only you remembered what 'it' was.

You didn't know if it is a blessing or a curse, the way your body always knew when she was near. Before you could control yourself, and against your better judgement, you turned towards her. Your body erupted when you saw her - she was perhaps just a little more beautiful than you remembered as she quietly conversed with Tina in the hallway. Butterflies exploded in your stomach, a sharp contrast to the ache in your chest that instantly amplified when she came to sight. You haven't spoken to her in a week, her last words to you ringing in your head like a broken record.

 _Santana, what are you so afraid of?_

You avert your eyes immediately, in fear of self-combustion. You fumble with the lock of your locker, occasionally letting your eyes wander back to her, like a recovering addict looking longingly at their brand of heroin. And, somewhere along the line, your hands stopped working, subtle glances became full on staring.

 _God, she was beautiful._

And perhaps it was a miracle, or that God was taking pity on you, or she just sensed your attention, she looked back at you, nodding distractedly at Tina's story. You were hooked instantly, unable to look away from those ocean blue eyes. You let your mouth curl into a little smile. Maybe today will be different, maybe Brittany will smile back, maybe she'll give you a little wave, or maybe, just maybe, she will invite you to stand beside her, like you always have.

Nothing prepared you for the sharp flash pain that shot into your chest when she looked away, like she never saw you, like you were never there. You choked on your breath, a whimper escaping your lips as you clutched on your chest, desperate for some form of relief.

 _Santana, what are you so afraid of?_

You didn't know. What _were_ you so afraid of? What was stopping you from walking right up to her to demand the attention you so obviously wanted?

And then you were angry, fury coursing through your veins, blood pumping through your ears. You were Santana freaking Lopez, Queen of McKinley High, you get anything you wanted, everything you wanted. So who was going to stop you from marching right up there to kiss the breath out of her?

So you did.

Except the adrenalin ebbed out of you with every step you took. And by the time you were in front of her, all that was left were your wobbly knees, and the rapid pumping of your heart.

You forgot all that anger you had just seconds ago. You forgot the determination within you just instances ago. You forget the butterflies in your stomach just minutes ago. Instead, you remembered the ugly bruises Rachel got from being shoved into lockers. You remembered Tina curling in the corner of the bathroom, sobbing into her slushy stained shirt. You remembered Kurt struggling to keep from breaking down after his name was announced for Prom Queen.

You remembered what 'it' was.

And Brittany standing in front of you was just every reminder of how wrong things could go if you kissed her right there and then.


	2. Chapter 2

You skip all your classes after the incident in the morning, after you ran away from Brittany like the coward you are - with your tail between your legs; after you gave in to the fear that plagues your body, like the weakling you are.

You hate yourself. You hate the way you care about other people's opinion, you hate the way you let the desire to fabricate their image of you dictate your actions. You hate the way you let yourself choose fear of a ruined reputation over happiness with Brittany, over Brittany's happiness.

You barely hear her approach, but you feel her easing the cigarette out of your fingers, extinguishing it with a stomp. You let her. You know how much she hates the smell of smoke; you know how much Brittany hates the smell of smoke.

She sits in the floor beside you, "You missed Physics."

"Little miss perfect skipping class?" You answer dryly, ignoring her sentence, eager to get the attention away from you. You don't need another person telling you how much of a failure you are.

"I think stopped being little miss perfect after I got knocked up." You hear the bitter smile in her tone even without looking at her.

For a moment, you forgot your inner turmoil and let your heart ache for her. "Rachel seems to like you fine, I like you fine," you remind her that her past mistakes do not define her, you remind her that the people that matter are not judging her for the choices she made a few years back.

She takes her time to consider her reply. "Brittany…she likes you fine too."

Your heart clenches painfully. "Does she still?" You say with clenched teeth. You're thinking of how she didn't speak to you in the past week, you're thinking of how she looked past you as though you're a stranger in the hallway today, you're thinking of the pained glance directed to you this morning, before you ran.

She makes a frustrated noise, "Santana."

"Quinn," you quip back.

"Brittany loves you, but she can't love you properly when you won't let her!"

The anger sets in, and before you realise, you're screaming back at her. "I won't let her? I won't let her? She'sthe one that refuses to talk to me. She's the one that looks at me like I'm some- some stranger!"

She's quick to match your tone. "You're the one that refuses to let her hold your hand in class, you're the one that refuses to let her kiss you in the hallways, you're the one that refuses to let yourself snuggle to her during assemblies."

"I-" You stumble, but your pride keeps you going. "Why do we have to publicise our relationship? My relationship with Brittany is private, it's not wrong to want to keep it that way." You turn away, crossing your arms around your chest. You're pulling at straws, trying to justify your choices, your fear.

She scoffs, "It's one thing to want to keep your relationship private, it's another to hide her like she's some dirty- goddamned- secret!" She jabbs her finger into your chest with every emphasis; you feel every word like a shard of glass through your heart.

You don't say anything; you didn't have anything to say. She's right, and you know it.

At your silence, she touches your arm, "You don't have to be scared, San," her tone was gentler, softer.

You give in, you relax, you let go. "I cant, I can't not be scared, I've tried," you dig your nails into your palm, your tears welling from your frustration.

You let her pull you into a hug.

"Sometimes, being brave isn't about not being scared. It's about not letting your fear define you, not being confined by fear."

You grip her tighter, sobbing into her shoulder.


End file.
